Chapter 2: When Love Turns to Ice

The next day, Cole pulled out of all the projects connected to me.

His withdrawal was swift and decisive. Overnight, my world shrank, the walls closing in.

The Whitaker family had deep ties in the medical world, and he was a top scholar.

His influence was everywhere. Losing him meant losing everything I’d worked for. Everything.

I’ll admit it—in my last life, I married him for what I could gain.

It wasn’t love at first, not really. But somewhere along the way, it became something real. I just realized it too late.

I knew he didn’t want me anymore.

That truth was a bitter pill to swallow. But I forced it down, refusing to let it break me.

But when I found out he’d handed all those projects over to Mia…

It felt like a betrayal, even though I had no right to feel that way. She got everything I lost, without even trying.

My heart still ached, for no reason I could name.

Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was regret. All I knew was that it hurt.

But I guess that’s how it should be.

Fairness never played a part in my story. I’d made my choices, and now I had to live with them.

In my last life, he saw it all—Mia was so squeaky-clean, not like me. I was always using dirty tricks to get what I wanted.

He deserved better. I just never thought he’d actually leave.

But his withdrawal from the projects was a warning to everyone else.

The message was clear: I was on my own now. No one would risk crossing Cole Whitaker for my sake.

Suddenly, I was completely isolated.

It was like being stranded on an island, watching the world move on without me.

…

I tried to win Cole over again.

Desperation makes you do stupid things. I told myself I was being strategic, but really, I just missed him.

Cole, are you at the university?

I typed the message, hesitated, then hit send. My hands shook as I waited for a reply.

I made some lunch—can I bring it to you?

It was a weak excuse, but it was all I had. I just wanted a reason to see him, to remind him of the life we once shared.

I didn’t dare hope he still had feelings for me. I just wanted him to remember our past, to not be so ruthless.

A part of me still believed there was a chance, no matter how slim.

I stared at my phone—no response—and felt shameless, like I had no pride left. After all that fighting yesterday, when it came down to my interests, I still had to beg.

Pride be damned. I was willing to grovel if it meant getting him back.

I decided to make him a nice meal and bring it to him myself.

If he wouldn’t come to me, I’d go to him. Old habits die hard. Guess I never learned.

And that’s when I realized something.

Standing in the kitchen, staring at the empty fridge, it hit me like a slap: I didn’t even know what he liked to eat. Not really. Not the important stuff.

I had no idea what Cole actually liked to eat.

All those years together, and I never bothered to ask. The realization stung.

But he probably knew all my preferences by heart.

He always remembered the little things—how I took my coffee, the snacks I liked, the way I hated cilantro.

After all, in my last life, Professor Whitaker’s favorite hobby was spoiling me with all kinds of good food.

He’d scour Yelp reviews, drive across town for the best pie, learn new recipes just to make me smile. I took it all for granted. God, I was selfish.

I wasn’t that picky, but I loved making a fuss in front of him.

It became a game, seeing how far I could push him before he snapped. I never realized how much it hurt him.

Cole, this pasta’s way too tough.

I’d wrinkle my nose, push the plate away. He’d just smile and try again.

Cole, what is this—soggy noodles?

He’d laugh it off, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes.

Cole, I don’t like spicy food.

He’d remember, every single time.

Cole, when did you start cooking everything so bland?

He never complained, never raised his voice. Just kept trying to make me happy.

He only ever lost his temper with me once.

It was a shock, seeing him angry. I didn’t know what to do.

His dark brows locked on me, his voice cold and serious.

He looked at me like he didn’t recognize me. The hurt in his eyes was worse than any argument. Worse than anything.

Autumn, do you really think I’ll always be on your side?

His words cut deep, sharper than any knife. I pretended not to care, but inside, I was crumbling.

I looked down at my manicure and said:

I forced a shrug, acting like it was no big deal.

Then get out.

The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I expected him to fight, but he just left.

That was my answer—and he really did leave.

The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing in the empty apartment.

In below-freezing weather, he went out without his coat, probably furious.

I watched from the window as he disappeared into the snow. Part of me wanted to call him back, but I was too stubborn.

I think I texted him around sunset.

The sky was turning pink, the city lights flickering on. I felt lonelier than ever.

Cole, I miss you.

I hesitated before hitting send, but the ache in my chest wouldn’t let me stop.

And not a minute later, the door flew open.

He burst in, cheeks red from the cold. Didn’t say a word. Just pulled me into his arms.

His embrace was fierce, desperate. I melted into him, letting the warmth seep into my bones.

The bridge of his nose pressed into my neck, and I heard him say:

His breath was warm against my skin, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yeah, I’ll always be on your side.

For a moment, I believed him. I let myself hope.

…See? In my last life, getting Professor Whitaker to heel was even easier than training a dog.

I laughed at the memory, but it wasn’t funny anymore. I missed the way things used to be.

…

By the third time I cut my hand and watched the pot boil over with some unrecognizable mess, I snapped out of my memories.

The kitchen looked like a war zone—burnt pots, flour everywhere, bandages on every finger. I was hopeless.

I realized I just wasn’t cut out for cooking. Not in this lifetime.

So I ordered takeout from Maple Street Deli instead.

Their clam chowder was legendary. I figured Cole wouldn’t notice the difference.

I poured it into my own thermos at home.

A little deception never hurt anyone, right? I just wanted him to think I cared.

Honestly... homemade or takeout, he probably couldn’t tell the difference.

I told myself it didn’t matter, but the guilt lingered.

…Probably.

I stared at the thermos, wondering if I was fooling anyone but myself.

…

Sorry, Sis.

Mia’s voice was soft, apologetic. She looked genuinely upset, but I wasn’t in the mood to comfort her.

I didn’t know you brought food for Mr. Whitaker too.

She twisted her hands together, eyes downcast. I almost felt sorry for her—almost.

He already ate what I made…

Of course he did. She always got there first.

Mia stood in front of me, visibly flustered.

Her cheeks were pink, her eyes wide. She looked like she’d stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Too perfect.

Call him your brother-in-law.

My voice was sharper than I intended. I watched her flinch, satisfaction and guilt warring inside me.

I smiled at her, noticing how her small hand clenched tighter inside her sleeve.

She looked so small, so breakable. I wondered if I’d ever been that innocent.

…

Cole.

I found him in his office, head bent over a stack of papers. He didn’t look up when I walked in.

I stood in front of him as he ate with his head down.

He was always so focused, so disciplined. It used to drive me crazy.

He ignored me, so I took his fork away.

Petty, maybe, but I wanted his attention. I swapped out his lunchbox for mine.

He paused, glancing at the food in front of him. I held my breath, waiting for his reaction.

His eyes flickered, unreadable. I wondered if he could tell it wasn’t homemade.

Finally, those deep, dark eyes focused on me.

For a second, I saw a flicker of something—pain, maybe. Or just exhaustion.

See?

I lifted my bandaged hand, offering it as proof of my effort.

The cuts were real, even if the food wasn’t. I hoped he’d see that I was trying.

I cut myself three times making this for you.

I forced a smile, trying to hide how much it hurt.

I worked so hard on it—can you please eat mine?

My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him to say yes.

I met his gaze, calm—

But so fragile it felt like I’d shatter any second.